


Number One

by cookiesandcreambrownies



Series: Three Fundamental Truths [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A fight between Alex and Lafayette, A lot of things happen, A party at the White House, Alexander Hamilton is Alex Hamilton, F/M, Inspired by a certain lyric in Satisfied, It's not fluff though, Lafayette being rescued, No one dies before the end of the story, Nothing triggering really in this one, Perhaps unrealistically but I Do Not Care, Politics, SPOILER ALERT:, Semi bittersweet ending, The Election of 1800 (but not really), War, and a lot of it, including but not limited to:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26312215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiesandcreambrownies/pseuds/cookiesandcreambrownies
Summary: Alex Hamilton doesn't know why she keeps getting mistaken for a man - after all, it's rather obvious that she's a girl.Ft. Alex Hamilton, George "would rather not be here" Washington, Angelica "better than you" Schuyler, Aaron "less of an idiot" Burr, and the rest of these hopeless messes.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler/James Monroe, Hercules Mulligan/Margaret "Peggy" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson/Angelica Schuyler
Series: Three Fundamental Truths [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911835
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Number One

**Author's Note:**

> Whoo! This came to me one night, when I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't get it out of my head. Yes, I have other projects to be working on, but my brain wouldn't shut up about the great idea it had. Enter me, with too much time on my hands and not enough things to do. I wrote this in five days, plus a day of editing, and here we are now.  
> So without further ado, here is Number One.

Alex looks out into the distance, hands braced on the railing of a ship's deck. The water sparkles under the clear sky. New York City is a faint smudge on the horizon.  
  
Alex smiles.  
  
It's a bittersweet feeling in the back of the mouth, leaving Nevis. Alex hasn't anticipated that.  
  
But then- Alex stands up, straighter. _I'm going to New York._ A comforting thought. _A new start._  
  
That's more like it.  
  


* * *

  
The first person Alex meets, really meets as more than a passing acquaintance, is Aaron Burr. Whispers of who he is have already reached Alex in the three weeks of being in America. Of how he graduated in two years from Queen's College. Of how - more importantly - he is an orphan.  
  
Just like Alex.  
  


* * *

  
Aaron is in a bar, one he frequents, in fact, when he comes in contact with the hurricane known as Alex Hamilton.  
  
He is nursing a whiskey, unwilling to actually get drunk, and contemplating exactly what his future will look like. He will join the revolution, of course; it is one of the few causes he will outwardly support. But after that?  
  
Well. If the colonies lose, then he won't have to worry about a future, he supposes.  
  
Aaron shakes his head. Not the time to be thinking such maudlin thoughts, he chides himself.  
  
He is so lost in his thoughts that he does not notice someone sitting down next to him.  
  
A voice breaks through his musings. "Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?"  
  
Aaron turns his head to find a stranger looking at him expectantly, drink in hand. He swallows. "That depends, who's asking?" he fires back. Best to be cautious, in case this person's a Loyalist.  
  
"Alex Hamilton, at your service. Now, are you, or are you not, Aaron Burr?"  
  
"Then yes, I suppose I am."  
  
Alex nearly sags in relief. "I've been looking for you. You're the one who graduated from Queen's College in two years, right?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Yeah, well, I wanted to do that, but the bursar didn't exactly see eye to eye with me on that, so I might've… uh, punched him."  
  
Aaron stares.  
  
Alex grins sheepishly. "Oops?"  
  
"But…"  
  
"But?"  
  
He supposes it might be better to just spit out the obvious. "But you're a girl!" he sputters.  
  
Alex's expression changes instantly, shuttering. "Yes." She tilts her head as she studies him, decidedly unimpressed. "How astute of you to notice that."  
  
Beginning to feel like he's made a mistake, Aaron backtracks. "Um, okay. So why are you telling me this?"  
  
"Perhaps," Alex says slowly, "it's so that you can tell me how you graduated in two years. So I can do the same."  
  
Oh. He shakes his head. "Impossible. My dad was the president of Queen's; that's the only reason they let me in early… and let me leave even earlier."  
  
"But he's dead," she says bluntly.  
  
Aaron tries not to flinch. "Dying wish," he tells her by way of explanation.  
  
Her expression softens fractionally. "My parents are dead. I'm just as smart as you." Her tone holds no arrogance, or even pride, really; she sounds like she's stating a fact. Aaron almost scoffs. A girl, as smart as him? Unlikely.  
  
"The only differences are that I'm a girl and I don't have your connections." Alex's eyes narrow slightly. She pushes away her drink, forgotten. "And don't think I don't know your opinion on my intelligence, Mr. Burr."  
  
"Call me Aaron," he says almost reflexively.  
  
She paused. "Aaron, then. I will assure you that I can match you in any intellectual pursuits I please."  
  
Perhaps he has made too hasty of a judgment, Aaron amends in his mind.  
  
"Well," he says at length, and not after an inconsiderable amount of thinking. "Would you like some advice, then?"  
  
"Sure." She's smirking, like she knows she's won. And maybe she has.  
  
"Talk less," he begins. "There's no reason to be ostracized for your beliefs, and shouting them from the rooftops won't help."  
  
Alex seems incredulous.  
  
"Smile more. It's much easier for you to get places if people like you." He says this from experience.  
  
From her expression, Alex is skeptical about what he's saying. But she's not outright disregarding them, which is more than he can say for some other people.  
  
People like-  
  
The door bangs open, three men walking in, laughing, yelling, and generally being raucous. Aaron sighs and finishes the thought. People like John Laurens, who has literally just walked into the bar with his two friends.  
  
Alex watches them, contemplative. Her eyes betray nothing, though there's a glint in there - intelligence, yes, but it's more than that - it's cunning and ambition and drive.  
  
If nothing else, Aaron knows she'll survive in the world just fine.  
  
Laurens' voice rises above the normal din in the tavern. "Yo, I'm John Laurens and there's nowhere else I'd rather be, 'cause I'm in the middle of the revolution!" A cheer greets his words.  
  
Aaron groans. Does he not fear for his life at all?  
  
Laurens keeps on talking. "Yeah, and those Redcoats better not mess with me - I'll have their heads before they know it!"  
  
He can't help it - he snorts. Luckily, it's lost in the noise.  
  
Alex turns to him. "Who's he?"  
  
"John Laurens. Didn't you hear him?"  
  
She shakes her head. "No, not his name. What does he do? What about his family? Obviously, he's a patriot, that much is clear, but how much is he willing to do? And what are his beliefs? That kind of stuff. Not the generic 'This is his name' shit."  
  
She's actually a lot more perceptive than he gave her credit for. "Laurens - currently has no job, came from England just to help the colonies, so I'd say he would do quite a bit to fight in the revolution, though his family's pretty big back there from what I've heard. Most important thing you should know is that he's an abolitionist."  
  
"Okay. Anything else?"  
  
"No impulse control whatsoever," Aaron tells her.  
  
Alex turns back to the group and watches them steadily. "Interesting."  
  
By now, Laurens is done with his speech and his friends have taken over. More accurately, Lafayette has taken over.  
  
" _Oui, mon ami-_ " Okay, so he's pretty drunk as well. Despite having a relatively strong French accent, Lafayette avoids actually speaking French - except when he can barely control his actions. Like right now.  
  
" _-je m'appelle Lafayette. Vraiment, je m'appelle Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier._ " He hiccups, laughing.  
  
Alex whistles. "Long name. French aristocracy?"  
  
"Mhm. The Marquis de Lafayette. No one in their right mind calls him anything but Lafayette, though."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Aaron gestures to the tall, lanky mess of limbs he knows as Lafayette. "He might be a happy drunk, but when he's fighting, he's deadly."  
  
As he watches, the third member of their trio - Hercules Mulligan, named after, and looking like, the demigod - pushes Lafayette down.  
  
"Hercules Mulligan," he announced to the crowd. "Living the _life_." By his wink, he knows _exactly_ what that sounded like, and meant it.  
  
Though he looks intimidating, Aaron isn't fooled. He's a tailor by trade and nothing more, nothing less.  
  
Alex catches on. "Hercules. Huh. He isn't actually that scary, is he?"  
  
"How'd you know?"  
  
She laughs. "You don't have a very good poker face."  
  
It's an odd statement, especially since Aaron has been complimented on his poker face more than once.  
  
He doesn't really stop and analyze it, though, because suddenly the three of them have their attention on him.  
  
"Well, if it ain't the prodigy of Queen's College!" Laurens calls.  
  
"Aaron Burr!" Lafayette and Mulligan say.  
  
Aaron sighs. Not again. Next to him, Alex looks faintly amused.  
  
Opting to ignore them, at least for the moment, he turns to her. "Is my suffering really that entertaining?"  
  
She smirks. "How melodramatic of you."  
  
Aaron takes a sip of whiskey.  
  
Laurens and his friends reach them, the crowd parting easily. "C'mon, any wise words today?"  
  
"Stop being so loud," he advised them. It's not the first time he's said that.  
  
It's also not the first time they haven't listened, either. "Why? The revolution's coming soon enough, what do you have to wait for?"  
  
Alex laughs, but it's not a mocking laugh at either side. "Burr, live a little," she says. "Laurens, back off."  
  
Somehow, against all odds, Laurens takes her advice, if only because he's now focused on her instead of Aaron. "Who're you?" he asks.  
  
"Yeah, who're you?" his friends echo.  
  
Alex isn't fazed. "Alex Hamilton."  
  


* * *

  
She meets John, Lafayette, and Hercules next. They are as different from Aaron as is physically - and temperamentally - possible.  
  
Doesn't stop her from becoming friends with all of them, though.  
  


* * *

  
John isn't sure exactly who this girl is, but he's curious enough to find out. A stranger, yet friends with Aaron Burr, yet also wild enough to tell them both off without worry.  
  
An enigma.  
  
Also, he's drunk.  
  
So when he asks her, "Who're you?" he really does want to know.  
  
She says, "Alex Hamilton," without a trace of fear in her eyes.  
  
"John Laurens," he tells her. She does not extend a hand for him to bring his lips to. Somehow, he respects her all the more for it.  
  
John studies her eyes, for any hint of alarm, or recognition, or both, or something else entirely.  
  
There is nothing.  
  
Instead, her lips curve up into a small smile. "I know."  
  
"And these are my friends-" he slings an arm over each of them.  
  
"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, and Hercules Mulligan. I know. You three weren't exactly bothering to keep quiet," she says sardonically.  
  
And what can he say? It's true.  
  
Without waiting for an answer, the girl - Alex, he reminds himself - turns and pins Lafayette with a stare.  
  
Lafayette asks, "Yes?" And to anyone else, he seems casual, unbothered. But John can see the telltale signs of nervousness - the tightening around his eyes, a tenseness in his shoulders. An overly stressed French accent.  
  
Even drunk, he can't help but wonder at Alex. Lafayette doesn't get nervous easily. He floats through life, uncaring of others' opinions, yet this little girl manages to break through all his walls with one look.  
  
Alex says nothing for a moment. "You're nervous. Why?" she asks plainly.  
  
Lafayette's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "I'm not."  
  
"Yes, you are. Do you make a habit of lying to people?"  
  
"You have no idea what you're talking about."  
  
Her expression remains unconvinced. "Sure. And I'm a boy."  
  
Lafayette doesn't say anything.  
  
"Good." Alex nods like she's cracked something. Maybe she has. "What will I call you, Marquis?"  
  
"That, I suppose. Or Lafayette, I don't mind."  
  
She smiles again. "I don't think so. Gilbert it is."  
  
Holy fucking shit, is she crazy? Drunk or not, there's no way Lafayette will let that slide, and drunk or not, he can take on this girl, no problem.  
  
John wants to step in, but he knows it'll make it worse. So he stands by, arm still slung against Lafayette's shoulder, and waits for the inevitable shitstorm.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Burr watching the exchange with interest and not a little bit of concern.  
  
Well, that's valid, at least.  
  
Lafayette narrows his eyes. "What?" he hisses.  
  
"You heard me, _Gilbert_." Alex doesn't back down in the slightest.  
  
Under John's arm, Lafayette tenses up. He can tell from experience that Lafayette will shrug him off, and throw a punch, and then they'll be in a brawl. Maybe.  
  
That is, if Lafayette doesn't knock Alex out.  
  
Her gaze is steady, never wavering from Lafayette's eyes. John readies himself.  
  
The punch comes out of nowhere, so fast that he isn't aware of it until his arm is already back at his side and Lafayette's fist is halfway to her face.  
  
Impossibly, he misses.  
  
Though his brain is still addled by alcohol, John can vaguely hear gasps. He realizes belatedly that one of those comes from his own mouth.  
  
"Wanna try that again?" Alex's voice doesn't falter. She's not taunting him, John realizes suddenly.  
  
She's warning him.  
  
Surprisingly, Lafayette doesn't throw another punch. He looks at her in confusion instead. "I didn't miss. How did you dodge that?"  
  
"You're slow."  
  
John almost chokes on his saliva.  
  
Slow? That's not a word he ever thought he would hear being used to describe Lafayette.  
  
Apparently, Hercules has the same thought. "Slow?" he repeats incredulously.  
  
"Yeah," Alex tells him, eyes never leaving Lafayette. "Slow enough that I can dodge, at least."  
  
Who _is_ this girl?  
  
Lafayette sags. "Could you at least call me du Motier?" he mutters, defeated.  
  
"Nope," Alex informs him cheerfully. "I'm calling you Gilbert and you can't do a thing about it."  
  
John is in shock.  
  


* * *

  
Alex isn't stupid; she knows exactly how to strike at someone in their most vulnerable place. She also knows how people respond to that.  
  
It doesn't scare her. Very little can actually scare her, now.  
  
But once she breaks down all their walls, what's left is what she judges them by. Gilbert might have a rough shell, but inside, he's actually not that bad.  
  


* * *

  
Lafayette drags them all into a back room, even Burr, since Alex insists on it. He walks through the winding hallways on autopilot, still caught up in his first encounter with the girl.  
  
How did she do it?  
  
Before he knows it, they are as far back as the rooms go. He wrenches open a door and waves them inside, shutting the door roughly and locking it behind him.  
  
"So," he says.  
  
"So." Alex looks at him expectantly, with a raised eyebrow.  
  
He takes a deep breath, scrubbing his face. "Why, exactly, do you insist on calling me something I do not wish to be called?"  
  
Once again, she meets his eyes. Her stare is unnerving, incredibly so. It looks into his soul and sees every part of him, good, bad, all of it, and dissects it.  
  
It feels like she understands him better than he does himself.  
  
If he's being honest, it is one of the few things that can make him nervous.  
  
"Do you truly not wish to be called anything but Lafayette?" she asks, though her tone suggests it is only a courtesy, and that she already knows the answer.  
  
"Well, I would not be averse to you addressing me by my title," he says, avoiding the question.  
  
Alex scoffs. "That is not a proper answer, and you know it. Besides, your title means nothing to me, _Monsieur Gilbert_."  
  
"Why doesn't my title mean anything?"  
  
Her gaze sharpens into something flinty. "If you have not noticed by now, we are in the colonies. We are not anywhere near France, and you and I should both act accordingly."  
  
"I'm willing to serve without pay," he points out.  
  
"As you should. Those who demand compensation for a commission in the army are incompetent fools. Now stop avoiding the question," she replies.  
  
He cannot answer, still focused on her blatant dismissal of many of his countrymen and peers. Incompetent fools?  
  
Well. She might not be entirely wrong.  
  
Lafayette sighs. "You… you are not the first to try to call me by one of my, admittedly many, names other than Lafayette. You are, however, the first to succeed. I must admit that I have resisted allowing anyone to call me by any of my given names for one reason, and one reason only."  
  
"Which is?" Alex doesn't sound impatient, just encouraging.  
  
Abruptly, Lafayette glares at the other people sitting in the room. "This does not leave this room, do you understand?" he asks.  
  
Alex agrees readily enough, though no one else says anything. She kicks them under the table. "Agree already!" she hisses.  
  
Murmurs of agreement fill the air.  
  
He slumps. "My parents are dead. They died when I was three," he admits, this one piece of his past that he has never divulged to anyone, that this girl manages to pry out of him within an hour of meeting him.  
  
It might have to do with the fact that he's just drunk enough to have impaired decision-making skills.  
  
There are no gasps after this revelation, no looks of pity. Nothing of the reason Lafayette tells no one this piece of information.  
  
The only person whose gaze has changed is Alex. She looks at him, steady as ever, but with a new light behind it. Understanding. Not pity.  
  
He is grateful that there are people who don't think any differently of him because of his past.  
  
"My condolences," she still says, and there is nothing but sincerity behind it. "Still, I would like to hear your entire explanation."  
  
"It… it reminds me of them. One of the few memories of them that I have is of them calling my name." He's not sure what he wants Alex's reaction to be.  
  
She looks at him consideringly. "Then perhaps you might want to make happier memories of your name. Keep the old ones, but make new ones to go with them." She grimaces. "Trust me, it helps."  
  
Lafayette mulls it over. "Maybe," he allows. "But you're still the only one who can call me Gilbert."  
  
Alex laughs.  
  
He turns to the others. "Do you not have anything to say?"  
  
"Gilbert, we've been talking in French the entire time," Alex tells him. "They don't know."  
  
Oh. That makes it easier to bear, he supposes.  
  
"Also, why did you talk to me in English when we first met?"  
  
"Out of habit when meeting a stranger." When did he stop thinking of Alex as a stranger?  
  
"I see."  
  


* * *

  
Alex knows what makes Gilbert tick, now. She's known how John works since he opened his mouth. Hercules Mulligan… well, he isn't hard to figure out either.  
  
Even Aaron Burr, when she really breaks it down, is incredibly easy to read.  
  
But there's one person who plays people just like she does; who knows how to read people the way that she does; who can break through walls just like she can.  
  
Who can guard against such things the way that she can.  
  
Angelica Schuyler.  
  


* * *

  
Angelica goes downtown, sometimes, with Eliza and Peggy. Eliza sneaks out willingly, Peggy she has to drag along. It's always worth it, though.  
  
She is well aware that New York City is the center of the revolution. She can feel it under her skin, taste it in the air.  
  
It's electric, it's exciting, and most importantly, it's inevitable.  
  
It is on one such excursion that she bumps into Aaron Burr. He is famous in socialite circles for being a wicked flirt, but also for his intelligence.  
  
Hell, he's famous in all of New York for graduating early from Queen's.  
  
The meeting is such that she is left to wonder if it was by chance or not.  
  
She is looking around at the commotion in the commons - another day, another speech - when she, quite literally, runs into Burr.  
  
"Oh, excuse me, miss," he says. Angelica places him instantly. Judging from their whispers and giggles, Eliza and Peggy have done the same.  
  
"Burr." She holds out her hand for him to kiss.  
  
He takes it. "Miss Schuyler. Pleasure meeting you here."  
  
"I'm taking in the city," is the only explanation she offers. He looks at her.  
  
"And how are you finding it?"  
  
"Perfectly well, Mr. Burr. In fact, well enough that I don't think we need to linger. If you will excuse us." She makes to turn away, but before she can, another person pipes up - _Burr's companion, how did she not notice her?_ \- and says, "Burr, back off. I'd like to be introduced to this mystery Miss Schuyler, at least, before she takes her leave."  
  
Angelica finally takes her first good look at the speaker. It's not anyone she recognizes, and the person is, to her surprise, a girl. "Have you finally found yourself a girl, Burr? Good for you."  
  
Burr scoffs. "Miss Schuyler, she is nobody's girl, especially mine. I just happened to meet her and have something to offer her at the same time. Now, introductions. Miss Schuyler, this is Miss Alex Hamilton. Alex, this is Miss Angelica Schuyler, the eldest of the Schuyler sisters."  
  
Alex appraises her coolly. Angelica is given the impression that she has offended Alex, somehow. She is unsure as to the exact method she used. She is unsure why she cares.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Schuyler," Alex says at length.  
  
Angelica is unsettled under her gaze. "And you as well, Miss Hamilton."  
  
She takes her leave with her sisters soon after that, though not before Eliza and Peggy are introduced to Alex as well.  
  
It isn't until they are in their carriage again that Eliza hits the nail on the head.  
  
"Goodness, she was almost a copy of you," she declares. Peggy nods in agreement.  
  
Angelica looks at her middle sister. "Whatever do you mean?"  
  
"You didn't see it? Oh, Angelica, her gaze was exactly like your own. She has the same spark, the same intelligence, and the same beliefs, I'd think."  
  
That's when it hits Angelica.  
  
One. She offended Alex by implying that she was nothing beyond being a man's wife. It would offend her, too, if someone had said that regarding her.  
  
Two. She is unsettled by Alex's look because it is her own. It's like looking in the mirror. In Alex's eyes, she can see herself.  
  
Three. She would very much like to meet Alex again and have a proper conversation with her.  
  


* * *

  
Alex doesn't ask about the Schuylers again, which is unusual for her, but not enough that Aaron comments on it.  
  
For that, she is grateful.  
  
She tries to contain the whirlwind of thoughts that comes after meeting Angelica Schuyler. Her sisters were nice, but it's Angelica who Alex - who isn't blind - can see herself in.  
  
An imperfect mirror.  
  
Alex would very much like to meet Angelica again and have a proper conversation with her.  
  


* * *

  
Washington can't even begin to comprehend the scene before him. Four people, all standing in front of him, obviously struggling to be respectful but not really succeeding as they shout over each other.  
  
And a fifth, neither respectful nor disrespectful, just… neutral.  
  
He knows the first four well enough - John Laurens, the Marquis de Lafayette, Hercules Mulligan, and Aaron Burr. All of whom have enlisted in the army, though Mulligan is a spy and therefore not _officially_ affiliated with him.  
  
The fifth is a mystery to him. Alex Hamilton, Laurens told him when he introduced the two of them to each other. Wants to join the army.  
  
There is, as far as Washington could see, exactly one problem.  
  
She is a woman. Girl, some might even venture to say, for she can't be older than twenty. And women can't serve.  
  
Alex herself says nothing as he voices these thoughts aloud. Not even when the boys begin to argue with Washington. Instead, she watches him, and he has an uncomfortable feeling that she can see his soul.  
  
That she is weighing his deeds against his sins and judging him for it.  
  
"Gentlemen," he begins, raising a hand. The room falls silent. "I cannot, in good conscience, allow Miss Hamilton to enlist in the army."  
  
"Miss Hamilton," Alex butts in sharply, "is right here and wondering why not. Is it because I'm a girl?"  
  
Washington looks at her. "Well, yes, in part," he admits. "But also because war is hell. Have you ever met absence, or pain, or grief? Have you seen death?"  
  
Her gaze sharpens, and the planes of her face harden into something almost alien. She all but spits out her next words.  
  
"Absence, pain, grief, and death, you say? Let's discard pain; as a woman, I will tell you that I am intimately familiar with pain every single month. If you need clarification, ask your wife."  
  
Washington opens his mouth to say something, but Alex holds up a hand as he did just minutes ago. He closes his mouth.  
  
"Absence, grief, death. What would you like to talk about, _sir?_ The grief people gave me for being born a bastard? The absence of my father when he walked out of my life, and my mother's, and my brother's, when I was ten? Perhaps the death of my mother when I was twelve, and we were both sick, or the grief and absence afterward?" A humorless laugh.  
  
"What about the absence of my brother after the foster care system ripped us apart? The death - no, the suicide - of my cousin and guardian a few years later? Or the hurricane, when I was seventeen, that left behind nothing _but_ death as far as the eye could see? Take your pick." She crosses her arms after the tirade, quiet though it might have been.  
  
Washington is slightly blown away by everything this girl has experienced already.  
  
Her companions feel the same way, if the expressions on their faces are anything to go by.  
  
And in that moment, as a barely of-age girl stares him down, he knows - he _knows_ , somewhere deep down, that if he relegates her to the sidelines as a bystander, as a spectator… they may lose the war.  
  
He looks at her again. Considers.  
  
"Miss Hamilton-"  
  
She interrupts him. "Do _not_ ," she stresses, "ask me to be your secretary. That will not happen."  
  
It's uncanny, how she knows what he's going to say before he does.  
  
"You wish to be a soldier?"  
  
"Have I not made that clear?"  
  
Washington sighs. "What will the other recruits think?"  
  
"Whatever they want. It's not my problem, it's not my fault." Alex shrugs.  
  
He groans. "On two conditions. One-"  
  
"No."  
  
"What? But you don't even know what I'm going to ask yet!"  
  
"Yes, I do. You still want me to be your secretary."  
  
"Aide-de-camp," he corrects, ignoring the fact that she was basically correct.  
  
"Fine, aide-de-camp. I don't want to."  
  
"You'll have a commission as an officer."  
  
That gives her pause, for the first time. "What rank?"  
  
"Lieutenant Colonel."  
  
The room stills, even the men, who aren't really paying attention at this point. If Alex accepts, she will become the first female officer in the military. If she doesn't, she'll be the first female soldier in the military.  
  
Unprecedented either way.  
  
But then again, Washington has never been known for his ability to do what others say he should do.  
  
After a beat, she makes up her mind. "Very well," she acquiesces. "What's the other?"  
  
"Beat Lafayette in a fight. I need to know you can defend yourself, and your friends here have been talking about that night in the bar. How would you fare against a sober Lafayette, I wonder?"  
  
Alex grins, showing teeth. "I'll try to put on a show."  
  


* * *

  
The 'fight' is scheduled for the next day, to take place in a muddy clearing quite close to the headquarters of the army. Word has spread throughout the soldiers, and when the time comes, the clearing is packed with people.  
  
Alex and Lafayette show up with Washington, who is giving them a speech. Lafayette tunes him out - he knows what the general is saying.  
  
They break through the ring with ease and stand in the center of the clearing. Washington finished talking and straightens up.  
  
"To be clear," he says, "this is _not_ an endorsement of infighting. This is a one-time thing."  
  
There are some good-natured groans, but for the most part the soldiers stay silent.  
  
"Alex Hamilton and the Marquis de Lafayette." Lafayette looks at Alex, barely hearing Washington outlining the rules of the fight. It's all standard, anyway - knock them out or get them to yield, and you win.  
  
Alex looks back at him, calm.  
  
"Are you ready?" He nods once, sharply. She does the same.  
  
Washington starts the fight and steps back.  
  
He lunges at her immediately. It's a tactic he uses to great effect - catching his opponents off guard.  
  
She dodges.  
  
He stumbles, almost falling down but gaining his footing just in time. Alex watches him with ill-concealed amusement.  
  
Lafayette pushes the anger down. Anger meant irrationality, and he needs to keep a cool head.  
  
She puts her hands in her pockets - it's the first time Lafayette's seen a girl wear pants - and just looks at him.  
  
"Well? Aren't you going to try again?"  
  
He snarls. "Why don't you attack, then?"  
  
Her face changes, eyes narrowing. "You asked for it."  
  
She takes a step and pushes off the ground in a graceful arc. It's slow enough that he can dodge, though. He steps to the side, wondering what, exactly, she meant to accomplish-  
  
-and then he's sprawled on the ground, both arms twisted behind his back, as Alex straddles his back.  
  
"Do you yield?"  
  
He mumbles, "No," trying not to get any mud in his mouth.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
Instead of answering, Lafayette tries to twist and reverse their positions.  
  
It doesn't work. She's ready for his tricks and uses the momentum to pull him into a standing position, arms still twisted.  
  
Pain lances from his wrists and elbows as she twists them mercilessly, to the point where he knows that one wrong move will result in a broken bone.  
  
Alex asks again, voice fierce, "Do you yield?" Her tone holds no quarter.  
  
"I yield," he says in resignment. Immediately, she releases her hold on him and steps back.  
  
Lafayette turns and faces her, mud in his hair, on his face, staining his clothes. He holds out a hand.  
  
She shakes it.  
  
The clearing is silent except for the wind blowing through the trees.  
  


* * *

  
The official commission comes two days later, delivered to the townhouse Alex is staying at. There is a note, handwritten, accompanying it.  
  
_It is my pleasure to inform you that your friends John Laurens, Aaron Burr, and the Marquis de Lafayette will be aides-de-camp alongside you and several others on my staff. You are to report to headquarters next Monday at seven o'clock sharp. Take care._  
  
Alex smiles.  
  


* * *

  
She dons her officer's jacket on Monday and heads out into the biting air.  
  
The army encampment is not far from her boarding house, only a twenty-minute walk, and she does not deign to use a carriage.  
  
Alex is still five minutes early.  
  
One of Washington's other aides whose name she does not know greets her at the door. "What do you need, miss?" he asks, smiling.  
  
"My name is Alex Hamilton, and I have orders to report here."  
  
The aide peers at her. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Do you not see my uniform?"  
  
He purses his lips. "Stay here," he says eventually. "I will fetch the general."  
  
Alex waits impatiently on the doorstep, the wind nipping at her face. She is contemplating opening the door and walking inside herself when it creaks open again.  
  
Washington looks over the aide's shoulder. "Tilghman, let her in! I did give orders for one Alex Hamilton to be shown to my office as soon as she arrived, correct?"  
  
"It seems that the gender must have eluded me," Tilghman mumbles. Still, he ushers her in before closing the door behind her.  
  
"Hamilton, let's go," Washington tells her. Alex follows him through several hallways before arriving at what must be his office.  
  
Inside, her friends are sitting, seemingly waiting for someone or something.  
  
They jump and stand at attention when Washington comes in, though their eyes spark with happiness as they see Alex trailing after him.  
  
"At ease, gentlemen," Washington tells them. Gilbert launches himself to hug her.  
  
Aaron asks quietly, "Where were you? We were getting worried."  
  
Alex snorts. "Tilghman, I believe that's his name, did not believe me to be Alex Hamilton, the newest aide, and decided to leave me waiting for close to twenty minutes outside in the cold."  
  
Washington coughs. "Twenty minutes? That's unacceptable. Rest assured that I will be having a long chat with him."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
John nudges her in the side as Washington launches into a lecture of their duties as aides-de-camp. She glares at him. He grins back.  
  
Only Hercules is absent, though why that is Alex doesn't know. She saves the question for a later, more appropriate time.  
  
For now, she focuses on what Washington is saying.  
  


* * *

  
The next time Angelica and Alex meet is at the Schuylers’ ball, to which all the soldiers in New York are invited.  
  
Eliza looks out from the window in her room as the officers arrive.  
  
She gasps. "Angelica! Miss Hamilton is here - with the army!"  
  
Angelica turns from her vanity to look at her. "Are you sure?" she asks. Eliza nods. It is impossible to miss the unique color of her eyes, even from so far away, or the look in them.  
  
Her sister rushes to the window to confirm.  
  
"She's just gone inside."  
  
"Eliza, do you have any idea what she's doing with the army?" Eliza shakes her head. Women are not part of the military; they do not serve, and that is the end of it.  
  
Angelica hastily finishes her makeup and goes downstairs. Eliza stays with Peggy until they both finish before joining her sister.  
  


* * *

  
Alex is next to the drinks when Angelica rushes through the door and catches her eye. She knocks back the rest of her drink (to the delight and admiration of her friends) before crossing the room.  
  
"Miss Schuyler," she greets.  
  
"Miss Hamilton. Please, call me Angelica. I'm afraid it might be confusing, what with my other two sisters."  
  
"It's only fair that you call me Alex, then. Well, Angelica, how are you?"  
  
"Perfectly fine. Listen, I wanted to apologize."  
  
"Apologize? For what?" She's asking only as a courtesy, of course. She knows exactly what Angelica wants to apologize for.  
  
"Well, I'm very sorry I implied you were nothing but Burr's… ah, feminine friend, and I'd like to start over, if that's possible?"  
  
Alex looks at her. "I'd like that very much, actually."  
  
They talk throughout the night, neither one allowing one of the men to lead them into a dance, though the two of them do dance together once or twice.  
  
(How scandalous, gasp the socialites.)  
  
Mainly, though, they stay close to the refreshments and debate each other on a variety of topics. It's the most intellectually stimulating conversation Alex has had since… since forever, really. She thinks it's wonderful.  
  
Alex's friends and Angelica's sisters don't bother them too much - they all know to stay away when one or both of them gets like this.  
  
Philosophy, science, civics, literature - anything and everything goes. What's intriguing is how much they agree on, and how little they don't - their debates are more like discussions, though whenever a controversial point comes up, they make long speeches with faultless logic.  
  
There is a passion behind Alex's eyes, a fire she can see in Angelica's as well. The precisely placed arguments, the perfectly crafted rebuttals, all of it gives her a thrill like no other.  
  
At some point, the topic of Alex's involvement in the military comes up.  
  
"I see you're wearing an officer's uniform," Angelica points out. "Is it borrowed or earned?"  
  
"Earned, of course," Alex replies, slightly insulted. "First female in the army, and a commissioned officer. Lieutenant Colonel."  
  
"I wish I could do the same. Papa doesn't let us do _anything_." Angelica looks rather put out.  
  
Of course, this sparks a discourse on feminism, because they're _them_ , and neither finds it surprising that they agree that women should have all the same rights as men. It's just that Alex has managed, somehow, to make progress on it.  
  
Angelica decides, "I suppose I shall have to find a husband involved in politics, then, who doesn't mind listening to his wife. We must start changing society from somewhere, and where better than the law?"  
  
Alex makes a face. "I will trust you to be the power behind the man. As for myself, I don't ever plan on finding a husband."  
  
"Never?"  
  
"No. Marriage is nothing more than a social construct designed so that women are restricted from being able to truly take charge, in my opinion. Don't you agree?"  
  
It seems that marriage is one of the few things they don't feel the same way on. Angelica thinks it's great, and symbolizes love and all, and Alex sees no point.  
  
After two heated speeches from each of them, they compromise by deciding that marriage is whatever the person getting married makes it out to be. And since neither of them will be getting married anytime soon, it's a moot point to discuss.  
  
Eliza, who happens to have heard most of that debate, interrupts. " _That's_ what an agreement to not discuss a subject looks like? You spent nearly an hour!"  
  
"Yes," Alex tells her, " but if we had the mind to, I've no doubt we could have argued our way through the night on just the topic of marriage."  
  
Eliza walks away, speechless.  
  
Alex and Angelica share a look and burst out laughing.  
  
As the party winds down, Washington calls on the soldiers to take their leave. Alex turns to Angelica. "Is there any way I can visit you again?"  
  
"Oh, please do," Angelica says. "I love my family dearly, but none of them can hold a candle to you in terms of intellect."  
  
"You and I both."  
  
She blushes. "If you've any time to spare, just knock on our door. I'll be here, as always. It's not like I can go anywhere else."  
  
"Need I remind you where our first meeting took place?" Alex teases, and it feels natural, though she's only really known this woman for a few hours.  
  
"About that." Angelica looks rather sheepish. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell my parents. That was… an unauthorized excursion, so to speak."  
  
Alex laughs. "Of course." She excuses herself, feeling Washington's gaze on her, and jogs over to where the other officers are waiting.  
  


* * *

  
Aaron doesn't say a word until they are halfway back to the encampment.  
  
"So. How was the party for you?" he asks Alex.  
  
She turns around from where she's chatting with another soldier - not anyone Aaron knows by name. "Great!" she says with a grin. "Remember Angelica?"  
  
"Schuyler?"  
  
"Yeah, her. She's awesome. Best conversation I've had in a while now."  
  
Aaron tentatively asks, "And she didn't… push you away or anything?"  
  
"No. Does she do that often?"  
  
"Often? She's the Ice Queen of New York, Alex."  
  
She frowns. "That's certainly not how she seems to me. Have you ever considered that she's just lonely?"  
  
Like many things about Alex, the suggestion sounds crazy. But Aaron's learned to never discount the craziness, because most of the time, she's right.  
  
"Um, no."  
  
"Well, you should," she insists. "I mean, I've got a standing invitation to visit her house, so I wonder who's right?"  
  
He almost does a double take. "A standing invitation?" he repeats slowly, wondering if he's heard right.  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan! Come here!" Aaron calls. They jog over.  
  
"Burr? What is it?" Laurens asks. They're on much better terms now, thanks to Alex.  
  
"Our Miss Hamilton-"  
  
"Call me Alex!"  
  
Aaron ignores her, a shit-eating grin on his face. "-has a _standing invitation_ to the Schuylers' house."  
  
They gape at her.  
  
She shrugs. "Like it's hard?"  
  
"Um, yeah, it's hard. The Schuylers are literally _the most reclusive people_ in New York, Alex," Lafayette informs her. "How'd you get the invitation?"  
  
"Um, Angelica," she says matter-of-factly.  
  
If possible, their jaws drop even lower.  
  
"Angelica?" Laurens manages to squeak out. Alex nods.  
  
"Angelica Schuyler, the notoriously sharp-tongued and protective of her sisters Angelica?" Hercules adds on.  
  
Alex nods again, her face lighting up. "She's the smartest person I've ever met. Someone who can equal me in terms of intellect. No offense to any of you, of course," she hastens to add. "But Angelica and I are so similar it's crazy."  
  
Lafayette gives a little shudder. "I am afraid of what you two might be able to do, working together. One Alex is enough for this world."  
  
Aaron privately agrees.  
  
"But she's not an Alex, she's Angelica," Alex argues. "A blizzard instead of a hurricane."  
  
"Quite honestly, that makes it no better," Aaron says.  
  
They travel the rest of the way in comfortable silence.  
  


* * *

  
John walks into an officers' meeting one day and is wholly unprepared for the sight that greets him.  
  
General Lee, who, in John's opinion, is a piece of shit, is standing and in Alex's face without any regard to her personal space. On top of that, he's shouting at her.  
  
Lafayette, Burr, and Washington are trying to stop him, but they think that Lee is necessary to the war effort and therefore don't really try that much.  
  
He takes a moment to listen to Lee.  
  
" _Just go back to where you came from, you bastard! It's not like anyone wants you here, and you're just a girl, what would you know about commanding? You little bitch who can't do anything - you should just leave like the useless piece of shit that you are!_ "  
  
John steps forward, blood boiling, but Alex's gaze flicks to him for a moment in warning.  
  
_Don't interfere._  
  
He stops in his tracks.  
  
Thankfully, Lee doesn't notice. He continues to spout his vitriol.  
  
" _Useless, dumb, shitty - maybe you should join your mother and save us all the trouble!_ "  
  
It’s exactly the wrong thing to say.  
  
Though John is watching the exchange like a hawk (he's sure everyone else is, as well), he still misses the exact moment Alex punches Lee.  
  
All he knows is that one second, Lee's diatribe spills from his mouth - the next, his head snaps back and his nose is bleeding.  
  
It's broken for sure.  
  
Alex watches Lee curse impassively, face set in stone. The only sign that she hit him is the blood on her knuckles. "I'd suggest you never talk to me again," she warns him quietly, threateningly. "The consequences won't be pretty if you do."  
  
Lee spits out a tooth. Has Alex punched him in the mouth as well? John surreptitiously takes a look at her other hand - it's already bruising. She's ignoring it, fist curled so tightly her knuckles are white.  
  
With one last glare, Lee slinks out of the room.  
  
Alex gets up and looks at the other officers stonily. "If you're not John, Gilbert, Aaron, or Washington, leave," she commands mildly. "I'd like to have a word with them."  
  
Normally, any self-respecting officer would protest being ordered around by a girl, subordinate, or person younger than them - Alex is all three for most of them. Normally, they'd look towards Washington to see if they needed to listen.  
  
Normally, though, said person has not just punched the second-in-command of the army in the face, twice, without blinking, and normally, Washington doesn't look as scared as he does at this moment.  
  
They leave without being told twice. John finds himself half-wishing he could do the same.  
  
"Sit," Alex tells them. They do so obediently.  
  
She remains standing.  
  
"Who decided that it was a good idea to divulge my life information to Lee, of all people?"  
  
John learns something new about Alex today.  
  
When she is furious, she is the opposite of what one would expect. There is no loud anger, no rage, no screams.  
  
There is only quiet.  
  
"Let me ask this again. Who decided to tell Lee about my life? I have told exactly four people, and all of them are in this room right now. So. Please, explain." All of this is said calmly, though he can almost see the wrath simmering underneath.  
  
It scares him. Badly.  
  
He exchanges a look with Lafayette, then Burr, then Washington. They are all terrified.  
  
"Actually, wait," Alex says. She crosses the room and wrenches the door open.  
  
Several other officers tumble onto the floor in front of her feet.  
  
She stares at them.  
  
"Exactly what is your business here?" she asks.  
  
"N-nothing," one of the braver ones squeaks. "Nothing at all, ma'am."  
  
"Then why are you eavesdropping?"  
  
"Sorry, ma'am. We'll just be leaving now."  
  
"Yes, you will. And if I find you doing anything illicit again, well. You will pay. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"Go." She closes the door on the sound of retreating footsteps and turns back around.  
  
Alex looks at her friends again, plus Washington. “So?” she repeats.  
  
John frantically racks his brain, trying to think of an occasion where he’s slipped up. He can’t find one.  
  
“Er… I might have told Hercules,” Lafayette admits reluctantly. Nervously.  
  
For the second time in his life, John sees Lafayette wilt.  
  
Alex studies him without a word.  
  
“Get Hercules,” she tells him emotionlessly. “I want to speak with him.”  
  
Lafayette swallows. "That's not a good idea," he says timidly.  
  
Alex barely spares him a glance. "Why not?"  
  
"He's a spy."  
  
"I know."  
  
"And… one of us getting him will probably blow his cover?"  
  
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You know what? I'll do it myself. Because obviously, _some people_ can't figure anything out." With that, she walks out, leaving stunned silence behind.  
  
"And I expect Lee to be discharged by the time I get back," she tosses over her shoulder as she disappears around the corner.  
  
John releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Alex is scary," he says, trying to process the situation he was just in. "Really scary."  
  
There are nods of agreement.  
  
"Should we agree to never speak of this again?" Washington suggests to everyone's approval.  
  
They never do figure out what happened to Hercules.  
  


* * *

  
Alex has a talk with Hercules on the importance of keeping secrets.  
  


* * *

  
Washington thinks the sound of guns may never stop ringing in his ears.  
  
It has been almost a week, this battle.  
  
He is watching the battle from a bluff, a vantage point, with two of his aides beside him. Both are waiting at attention for orders.  
  
With a sigh, he surveys the fighting again. Yorktown, the battle is called. He knows enough of war to understand that a victory here will be crucial to the war effort.  
  
Alex, Laurens, Lafayette, and Burr are all out on the field, leading the troops. Washington turns his attention to the left flank.  
  
"Tell Officer Hamilton to capture the next redoubt," he says quietly.  
  
One of his aides mounts his horse and climbs away.  
  
Soon, he can see exactly how effective Alex is. Her command has pushed its way to the very edge of the redoubt, and - Washington looks through his looking glass - she is at the very front line.  
  
He is struck by how different she looks in battle.  
  
She is all harsh lines and angles, ruthless and efficient in her slaughter. A striking difference from her normal solid, inscrutable self.  
  
A wildfire, broken free from stone.  
  
He takes a look at some of his other officers. Lafayette, fighting with a grace and fluidity borne of a privileged upbringing; Laurens, sword singing a wicked song in the air as he fights without regard to his own safety; Burr, the most cautious of the four, but effective nonetheless.  
  
The French ships are in the bay, caging the British, under General Cornwallis' command, and preventing them from fleeing. Washington nods at the lone drummer boy on the hill, stationed here for this exact reason, and he starts a cadence.  
  
_Boom._  
  
The sound rings out over the battlefield. It's not a normal drum, this one; somehow, Alex, with Burr's help, has set it up so that the French, all the way across the bay, can hear it.  
  
_Boom._  
  
The fighting stills for a moment, with the exception of isolated pockets - Lafayette's command, on the right, Burr's, in the front, Laurens', in the center, and Alex's, on the left - and in control of the redoubt already.  
  
_Boom._  
  
The French ships turn and show off their many cannons to the British.  
  
_Boom._  
  
The first volley, landing in the middle of the British camp.  
  
_Boom._  
  
The second, which comes on the heels of the first, leaving no room to regroup.  
  
_Boom.  
  
Boom.  
  
Boom._  
  
The beat continues, unstoppable, as the cannons keep on firing.  
  
With their camp destroyed and numbers decimated, penned in from all sides, the British finally surrender at nightfall.  
  
When the young redcoat waves a white handkerchief from one of the few parapets remaining, Washington almost slumps in relief.  
  
The drum changes its tune.  
  
_Ba-boom, ba-ba-ba-boom-ba-boom.  
  
Cease fire, the British have surrendered._  
  
Slowly, the fighting stops. Washington climbs atop his horse and rides down to the battlefield to meet with Cornwallis.  
  
He smiles, barely believing it.  
  
"We won!" he roars.  
  
"We won!" the soldiers repeat. Cheers rise up into the night.  
  
The British are escorted from Yorktown after the terms of surrender are agreed upon. Washington and his aides watch as their foes stagger down Yorktown's main street.  
  
"The world's turned upside down," Alex comments softly.  
  
"It has," he agrees.  
  


* * *

  
Alex learns, later on, that John is planning on going to South Carolina.  
  
She drops by his tent one night, both of them slightly tipsy from the alcohol they served at the celebration of their victory.  
  
"John," she begins, "what is this that I hear about you running off to South Carolina?"  
  
He looks at her, confusion in his eyes clearing after a moment. "Oh, yeah. About that. Washington's given me permission to free and recruit some slaves to form the first black battalion. I'll be going there first."  
  
Alex sighs. "And when are you leaving?"  
  
"Mm. Tomorrow night, I think?"  
  
She glares at him. "Did you plan on telling me before you left?"  
  
He has the decency to look guilty.  
  
Abruptly, Alex pulls him into a hug. "Don't you _dare_ die on me, John Laurens," she whispers fiercely in his ear. "And if you do anything foolish, I will find you and I will kick your ass from here to England."  
  
John laughs. "I won't. I promise."  
  


* * *

  
Lafayette leaves for France soon after.  
  
Alex hugs him at the docks, telling him to be careful back in France. "I know how it is over there. Don't be stupid, keep your guard up, and stay alive."  
  
"I will," he promises, voice thick with emotion. "Write me."  
  
She smiles. "Of course."  
  


* * *

  
She is visiting the Schuylers when the letter comes.  
  
"Thomas Jefferson is coming back soon," Angelica tells her. "Sexist asshole."  
  
Alex raises an eyebrow. "Is he, now?"  
  
Nodding, Angelica says, "Absolutely. I met him in France, once, and it was… highly unpleasant. My parting note was a slap across his face."  
  
"Perfect," she declares. "Why's he coming back?"  
  
"Oh, his stint as the ambassador to France is over, and besides," Angelica's voice drops, "I heard Washington's asking for him to be Secretary of State."  
  
Alex nearly growls. "I need to _work_ with him?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Okay, so you didn't hear it from me, but I'm the Secretary of the Treasury."  
  
Angelica gasps. "Is there anything you _can't_ do?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
There is a knock at the door. Angelica yells, "I'll get it!" and rushes from the parlor. Alex can hear the door creaking open, the hushed murmurs of conversation, though the actual words are too muffled to make out.  
  
It's not long until Angelica comes back into the room. "Alex, there's mail for you," she says, voice shaking, face pale.  
  
Alex sits up. "What happened?"  
  
"You've a letter from John Laurens… and another from his father."  
  
"His father?" Her heart drops.  
  
Alex opens the letter from John first and reads it aloud.  
  
_Dear Alex,  
You might be wondering why I'm writing you this letter. It's naught but a reassurance that I'm not dead, no matter what any other correspondence you may receive might tell you.  
You see, I was shot in a skirmish with British troops who had not yet retreated from South Carolina, and almost died. Luckily, I wasn't a complete idiot and managed to move at the last moment so that the bullet hit my shoulder instead of my chest.  
I'm very sorry for almost dying, and please don't worry about me. I should be fully recuperated in a few weeks, and I'll be traveling back to New York at that time. Expect me in four weeks or so.  
Lafayette, Hercules, and Burr should have also received this letter. Again, I'll be fine. Hope you're doing well.  
Your friend,  
John Laurens_  
  
Alex half-laughs, half-sobs. "That idiot," she manages to get out.  
  
The other letter holds no dread for her now. She unceremoniously opens it and skims the contents.  
  
"Yadda yadda… my son died on Tuesday… his body remains here… wait, what? Listen to this, Angelica: 'As you may know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting 3,000 men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him.' What bullshit is this?"  
  
"Well, he's not dead, so maybe Washington will countermand that."  
  
"He'd better. Now, about that Jefferson…"  
  


* * *

  
Aaron goes back to New York to become a lawyer after the war.  
  
Alex works with him on cases sometimes, which is already highly unusual, but then she takes it one step further one day.  
  
"I want to argue this case in court," she says out of the blue as they read over Levi Weeks' case file again.  
  
Aaron nearly drops his quill. "What?"  
  
She looks at him steadily. "I want to argue this case," she repeats.  
  
"But… but you can't!"  
  
"And why not? I'd think you knew me better than this, Aaron."  
  
It's all very reminiscent of their first meeting.  
  
In the end, she gets her way, like she always does, and they argue for Weeks' innocence in court together.  
  
They win.  
  
He receives word a day later from Alex that she's going to the Constitutional Convention to reform the Articles of Confederation, and would he like to come?  
  
Aaron accepts, of course.  
  
He witnesses the force that is Alex Hamilton argue successfully for women's rights to be included - including the right to vote, the right to hold office, and the right to everything else in the Constitution.  
  
And after it's all over, and the new Constitution has been signed, he helps her write the essays to defend it to the public alongside James Madison and John Jay.  
  


* * *

  
Thomas has barely stepped off the boat before he is greeted by one of his slaves. "Your carriage, Master," he says.  
  
He steps in without a second glance and kicks off his shoes, relaxing. France was nice - with one exception that Thomas doesn't even want to think about - but Virginia is better.  
  
Home sweet home.  
  
They arrive at Monticello in no time at all. As Thomas steps through the door, he is greeted by several more slaves. One of them hands him a letter, Washington's seal stamped into the wax.  
  
He breaks it, curious as to what the President of the newly-formed United States of America could want from him.  
  
One sentence jumps out at him.  
  
_If you should choose to accept it, you will be the Secretary of State._  
  
What?  
  
He backtracks a little and reads through the rest of it, sighing a little.  
  
"Prepare the carriage again," he orders. "I'm going to New York City."  
  
He'll give his slaves this: they're very efficient. Several hours later, Thomas stands in front of the building that temporarily houses the government. He knocks.  
  
Washington's wife opens the door. "Who might you be, sir?"  
  
"Thomas Jefferson," he says, bowing with a flourish. "I believe your husband has need of me?"  
  
Her expression clears. "Ah, yes. Come in." She opens the door wider.  
  
He steps in, thanking her, and is directed to the office. The door is slightly ajar, and he can hear voices coming from inside.  
  
Cautiously, Thomas opens the door. Washington looks up. "Ah, Mr. Jefferson! Come in, come in, and close the door behind you, please. Now, based on the fact that you're here, I presume you've accepted the appointment?"  
  
"Yes, I couldn't pass it up." He's rewarded with a smile.  
  
It's not until he moves to sit down that he notices the other person in the room - a girl, scrutinizing him closely.  
  
She's too fair-skinned to be a slave, so that leaves one other option - a relative.  
  
"Miss Washington, pleasure to meet you," he greets, expecting her to giggle vapidly like females usually did around him.  
  
Instead, her lips curl up in a predatory smirk, gaze never wavering once. She says nothing, does nothing.  
  
Thomas begins to sweat under his cravat.  
  
A glance towards Washington shows no sign of a rebuke, not even a mild chastisement. The man's just looking at her.  
  
Faced with an awkward situation like this, he does what he does best - insult. "Has your mother never taught you manners, girl? When a man addresses you, you answer him. Show some respect to your superiors."  
  
The smirk leaves her face, replaced with a sneer. Thomas finds himself wishing for the smirk to come back.  
  
"Mr. Jefferson. You are a pretentious asshole, hypocritical, sexist, and full of bullshit."  
  
He gasps, about to make a remark on her nonexistent courtesy, but she speaks before he can.  
  
"You are neither my superior nor my equal. You will not be my equal until you yourself learn some manners. You will _never_ be my superior. Respect is earned, not given, and quite frankly, you have given me an inclination to do neither," she tells him sharply. "Did you even bother to learn my name? No, but an assumption seems to be all that you are willing to spare. To presume is to fail, and you would do well to learn that."  
  
Thomas is gobsmacked.  
  
"My name is not Miss Washington, nor will it ever be. It seems that Angelica was absolutely correct about you." Angelica? It can't be.  
  
"Angelica Schuyler?" he asks, just to make sure.  
  
"Yes. For the record, I won't hesitate to slap you across the face, either."  
  
Internally, he groans. He cannot handle another Angelica.  
  
On the outside, he keeps his face neutral. "Then what is your name, miss?"  
  
"Alex Hamilton. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but it isn't as of yet."  
  
The name stirs a memory from the depths of his brain.  
  
" _You're_ Alex Hamilton?"  
  
"Whatever do you mean?" she asks innocently.  
  
"The one Lafayette told me about."  
  
Alex brightens. "Oh, then yeah, probably. I'm the one who beat him in a fight?"  
  
Shit.  
  
His feelings must have shown in his expression, because she laughs. "Yeah."  
  
"I don't believe you," he says reflexively.  
  
Her face goes blank again, turning back to stone. "You don't need to. Just know that you underestimate me at your own risk."  
  
At this, Washington interrupts. "Mr. Jefferson, Miss Hamilton will be working as your colleague and the Secretary of the Treasury."  
  
Oh, Thomas is looking forward to destroying her in the cabinet meetings. He doubts she can match him in terms of intelligence.  
  
He rises from his seat. "Very good. I trust I will see you all at the cabinet meeting tomorrow?"  
  
"But of course. I look forward to it." Alex doesn't smile, doesn't hold out a hand, doesn't do anything but look at him.  
  
He takes his leave, uncomfortable. Behind him, he can hear Washington say, "Did you _really_ have to be so intimidating?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I don't know what to do with you."  
  
"You don't need to."  
  


* * *

  
Alex is very much looking forward to the cabinet meeting.  
  
Thomas Jefferson is an asshole and a piece of shit, and she has no doubt that his views are as distasteful as the man himself. She can't wait until she can tear him apart.  
  
The cabinet, plus Washington, is gathered in a room especially appropriated for government use - a mix between a parlor, a dining room, and an office.  
  
Jefferson arrives last.  
  
"Hey, y'all. Sorry I'm late," he says.  
  
Alex refrains from commenting.  
  
"Please. Take your seat, Secretary Jefferson," Washington tells him, slightly exasperated.  
  
Once everybody has been situated, Washington calls the meeting to order. "We have only one thing to discuss today," he says. "Secretary Hamilton's financial plan."  
  
"I object," Jefferson says, because _of course_ he does. "Hamilton is a girl; there's no way she knows how to manage a nation's finances. She doesn't even have a husband!"  
  
"Two things," Alex says before Washington can do more than open his mouth. "One. A spouse - or a lack of one - does not define my worth. Please refrain from personal attacks, unless you'd like me to talk about your relationship with your sl-"  
  
"No, no, that won't be necessary," he hastily interjects.  
  
Alex accepts this. "Second, have you even read the plan? I'd like to think that being informed is a prerequisite for criticizing it."  
  
"Um… no. But I know the general idea!"  
  
Alex knows her eyes are glinting by the way the others at the table lean back a little. Good. Anyone with any sense at all should be afraid when she gets like this.  
  
Well, except Angelica. Angelica can give as good as she gets, and Alex respects her all the more for it.  
  
"And what, pray tell, is the 'general idea,' Mr. Jefferson?" she all but hisses out.  
  
Worry flashes across his face. "You want the federal government to assume states' debts! Which, for the record, is a horrible idea. Virginia's debts are all paid, so why should we have to contribute _more_ money towards New York's debts?"  
  
A sigh of disappointment. "It's all in the outline that you _should have read_. But since you can't be bothered to do that, I'll recap. By redirecting all the debts to the federal level, the states are free to use a new line of credit. Which, if you can't figure out by yourself, will boost the nation's economy."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Let me ask you this, Jefferson: will you take the blame when the farmer in Virginia cannot sell his cotton, or his crops, or whatever it may be, or when Virginian money becomes worthless in its value? Will you take the blame when Virginia's economy crashes and there are no fixes, no fail-safes? _Will you?_ "  
  
Jefferson's face is pale as she drives her point home. " _Because if you will not, it is high time you listen to those with a solution!_ "  
  
Washington steps in after she finishes. "Thank you, Secretaries. I think that is all for today. Think on it, and we will reconvene in a week." He strides from the room without another word.  
  
By mutual agreement, Alex and Jefferson wait for the others to file out.  
  
"Hamilton," he begins grudgingly, "you are… not what I expected."  
  
Alex merely glances over as she organizes her papers. "I delight in shattering your expectations."  
  
He sighs. "I'm not trying to pick a fight."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Okay?"  
  
Alex gestures impatiently. "You're not trying to pick a fight. That's fine. Is there anything else you'd like to say?"  
  
"Look, you must know that you don't have the votes in Congress to pass your financial plan."  
  
"I'll think of something if I must." She says this with utter confidence.  
  
"What if you didn't need to?"  
  
She stops. Turns around. Narrows her eyes. "Whatever do you mean?"  
  
"I have a proposal for you."  
  
"Meet me at the tavern on Fifth Street in an hour," Alex says by way of response, going back to cleaning up her paperwork. "Last room in the back. Bring whomever you want."  
  
"What?"  
  
She pauses again, exasperated. "If you want to delude yourself into thinking this was your idea, be my guest. But I know you, and I know your friend James Madison - don't forget we wrote the _Federalist Papers_ together - and this has his fingerprints all over it."  
  
"You're… not wrong," Jefferson admits. "Will you be bringing anyone?"  
  
"Maybe," she says simply, and leaves the room.  
  


* * *

  
Aaron is going through some cases when there is a knock at the door. He goes to the front and opens it.  
  
Alex stands on the doorstep, foot tapping impatiently. "There you are," she says.  
  
He blinks. "Alex? Is there something you needed?"  
  
"Yes. Are you available right now?" He considers for a moment, then decides that he doesn't really want to miss whatever it is that Alex wants to drag him to.  
  
"Yeah, just let me clean up and put on a coat," he tells her.  
  
"Five minutes - we can't be late."  
  


* * *

  
When Thomas approaches him and tells him that Alex wants to meet them in the tavern on Fifth Street, James' first reaction is relief. His second is panic.  
  
If Alex can see through Thomas' posturing in a heartbeat, how is _he_ supposed to stand up to her? He knows her from back before they became political opponents, of course, when they wrote the _Federalist Papers_ with Aaron Burr.  
  
She's terrifying.  
  
James accepts the invitation apprehensively and with not a small amount of doubt. He and Alex hadn't parted on the best of terms, and they haven't met privately since then.  
  
They ride to the tavern in silence. Thomas steps into the loud, crowded room first, James following him through the throng of people. He makes his way to the back, where there are a number of private rooms.  
  
Thomas enters the very last one.  
  
As James steps over the threshold, he is met by two others - Alex, whom he has expected, and Burr, whom he has not.  
  
From the look on his face, neither has Thomas.  
  
Alex rises and greets them cordially, if impersonally, and gestures for them all to take a seat.  
  
He does.  
  
The dim lighting in the room makes the stark angles of Alex's face even more pronounced in such a way that her expression could almost be construed as cruel. He takes a deep breath, quelling the rising anxiety.  
  
"So. Your proposal?" she asks.  
  
Thomas nods. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure that if you wanted you could still get your plan through, but we're here to say that you don't have to. We'll give you the votes."  
  
"Will you, now?" She is faintly amused, it seems. James sees a small smirk playing on her lips.  
  
Thomas nods, either oblivious to her amusement or electing to ignore it. "Uh-huh. But under one condition."  
  
"I expected as much. So, Madison, exactly what condition is this?"  
  
James startles, not expecting her to address him directly. "U-um," he stutters out. "If you agree to - to put the Capitol in a spot of our choosing, then we'll give you your votes the next time Congress - the next time Congress convenes to vote on such things."  
  
"What happens, then," she says slowly, "if I don't want to give you the Capitol? What if I like it right where it is, here in New York City, and I'm willing to get the votes myself?" It's not a bluff, he knows that much, because Alex Hamilton has never issued an idle threat.  
  
He just has to figure out exactly how much they can push her before she actually does it.  
  
"I'd say you'd be sick of the delay," he replies as evenly as he can.  
  
Her gaze warms fractionally. "Looks like Jefferson was right to bring you along."  
  
"I'm right here, you know," Thomas interjects.  
  
Alex doesn't even look in his direction as she waves a hand. "Yes, yes, but this is Madison's plan, and I wanted to hear it from him."  
  
James is smart enough to realize one thing: if he says anything wrong, Alex won't waste any more time on them. It's not up to Thomas. It's up to him.  
  
"So," she continues, "if I agree. You'd be getting the Capitol, New York would get the banks. Yes?"  
  
He nods, shocked that she's agreeing so quickly.  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't like that. So here's my counteroffer: New York gets the banks and the Capitol. In return, I don't tell anyone about your… relationship with Sally," she points at Thomas, "I'll give you support on any one piece of legislation of your choosing - yours, not Jefferson's - and I will endorse either or both of you if you run for President. As long as it's not against me."  
  
"That's not fair!" Thomas protests.  
  
James agrees with him, privately, but he can't say that now, not when he's _so close_ to getting what he wants.  
  
"That's highly skewed towards you, though," he points out.  
  
"So it is."  
  
"Then why should I agree?"  
  
"Because if you don't, I have free reign to run my mouth on anything and everything I want - which includes, if you've forgotten, Madison, everything I know about you."  
  
Shit. James has, in fact, forgotten all the dirt she knows about him, too.  
  
"Add in a promise that you won't tell anyone about my dirty secrets, and that Burr won't tell anyone _anything_ that happened here, and we have a deal."  
  
"Alright. But you have to promise that neither you nor Jefferson will disclose anything said in this room, either. Except matters that pertain to politics, and even then only to Washington if he asks for it. Same goes for Burr and me."  
  
James nods once, and they reach an agreement.  
  
Alex turns to the other two. "Aaron, Jefferson, you two are both lawyers, right? Will you please draw up a contract together? I'd rather everything was nice and official. Just omit the… personal parts." Her voice is nearing saccharine.  
  
James winces. The meeting hasn't gone the way he wanted it to, at all, and yet, he can't say he's surprised. Alex has a way of manipulating any situation to her advantage.  
  
He can't help but feel respect towards her for that.  
  


* * *

  
Washington has a headache.  
  
When Alex and Thomas presented him with a miraculous compromise two months earlier, he was relieved beyond belief.  
  
_Maybe now they can work together_ , he thought.  
  
He isn't so sure now.  
  
Alex and Thomas are in one of their worst arguments so far, the two of them both standing up and shouting in each other's faces.  
  
"We _have_ to help France," he argues. "They helped us, it's only fair that we help them back!"  
  
"We _can't_ help France," she responds. "If we get drawn into another war, we won't have the resources to protect our own country!"  
  
"From whom?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know, maybe from the Spanish down south, the French to the west, or the British in the north?"  
  
Thomas falls silent for a moment. Washington seizes the opportunity to break it up.  
  
"Enough," he says wearily. The two of them both turn to him, expectant. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I would have thought the two of you could work together after your… joint proposal on Secretary Hamilton's financial plan. Evidently not, it seems."  
  
Alex looks at him in surprise. "Oh, sir, this isn't arguing for the two of us."  
  
Wait, what?  
  
"Yeah," Thomas agrees. "We were just using each other as a sounding board right now. Our actual debates are in Latin."  
  
"Latin?" he echoes.  
  
She nods. "Uh-huh. Angelica didn't study Latin, so literally he's the only person I can talk to if I want to sharpen my skills."  
  
"Let me get this straight. You're telling me that _this_ ," he motions to the room, indicating their argument, "wasn't one of your fights? And that you two have arguments in Latin when you're actually debating."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't call them arguments, per se," Thomas says, though he's grinning. "But in a nutshell-"  
  
"Yes." Alex finishes his statement.  
  
"Please stop bouncing ideas off each other in the middle of a cabinet meeting, then," he says, still in shock.  
  
She salutes him sarcastically. "Anyway, I think this meeting should be adjourned. We're not going to come to an agreement right now, anyway."  
  
Washington waves a hand, acknowledging the statement. "Yes, yes. Go ahead. Meeting adjourned."  
  
Thomas and Alex, unsurprisingly, stay behind and talk.  
  
"Are you crazy? What do you mean, we can't help France?" he asks in a hushed whisper.  
  
She doesn't yield. "Think about it. If we help France, it's tantamount to declaring war on England, which is a detrimental course of action."  
  
"Ugh! Did you forget Lafayette?"  
  
It takes a moment for her to process his words, but when she does, her eyes spark. Washington, watching from his desk, looks on apprehensively.  
  
"How dare you," Alex hisses. "No, I have not forgotten him. He is my friend, and has been since before the war even started, and don't you forget it."  
  
Thomas is slightly taken aback.  
  
"Alright, then. I'm just saying-"  
  
"Don't. But thanks for reminding me; I have something I need to do." She stands up. "Sir?"  
  
Washington sees her expression, and, slightly terrified, asks, "What is it?"  
  
"This is my official notice that I will be gone from America for the next month. Please don't expect me to be able to fulfill my duties for that time."  
  
"And what are you doing?"  
  
She smiles. "Right. So I've been in contact with Gilbert, and his last letter said that they were throwing him in prison. For being an aristocrat. So as his friend, I'm mounting a rescue attempt with Angelica to get him out." She shoots a pointed look at Thomas.  
  
His expression is incredulous. "What the hell, Alex? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Do you want to go?"  
  
"Duh!"  
  
Washington sees her consider. "Alright. I mean, you can give your notice right now."  
  
Thomas does just that. "Mr. President, I'm also giving a notice of absence for the next month."  
  
Washington groans. His two most effective advisors, gone for a month. "Fine. But I'd you're not back in a month, I have to replace both of you."  
  
"That's fine."  
  
The two of them walk out after that, still talking.  
  


* * *

  
With a groan, Lafayette stretches out on his bed as he wakes up, the thin sheets doing nothing to cushion the hard base.  
  
He opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings again. The dankness of his prison is an unwelcome but familiar sight after only two days.  
  
He sighs. "It seems that I am doomed to spend the rest of my life in prison," he mumbles to himself. "What a great future to look forward to."  
  
Lafayette's only consolation is that his wife and kids are okay, as far as he knows.  
  
Breakfast - bread and water - has already been placed next to the door. At least the bread is not moldy, he muses as he breaks a piece off. And it is still of good quality.  
  
A knock sounds on the door a few hours later, as he paces back and forth in his little cell under the window.  
  
"Monsieur Motier, there is a visitor for you," the warden calls out. "Please stand against the far wall with your hands in front of you."  
  
Lafayette almost snorts. What can he, a malnourished former aristocrat, do to the armed man? Still, he complies, and the sound of the lock clicking open echoes through the room.  
  
The warden comes in, surrounded by the bodyguards that always accompany him. "Very good." He places shackles around Lafayette's wrists and leads him through the winding hallways.  
  
Lafayette finds himself wishing for his former fire, the spark that had urged him to run off to America, against the king's wishes, to help fight for freedom and revolution.  
  
He cannot muster it.  
  
As his feet automatically step one in front of the other, he wonders about his old friends. Alex was the last person he'd heard from, before his imprisonment; he hopes she's doing well as Secretary of the Treasury. Laurens almost died, he remembers. Hercules should have a flourishing tailor shop by now. Burr, whom he counts as a friend, surprisingly, is a lawyer, if his memory serves right. Angelica should have found a husband. And Thomas, the Secretary of State.  
  
He's struck by a longing to visit them and see their faces again.  
  
The warden stops in front of another door and unlocks it, ushering him inside. "Please sit," he says. Lafayette obeys.  
  
He keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him as the door opens, closes, and opens again. Footsteps sound on the stone as someone approaches him. His guess would be Robespierre, or one of his lackeys, here to gloat and remind him that he lives only because of them. Because of their generosity.  
  
"Gilbert?"  
  
That's not Robespierre. Only one person in the world calls him Gilbert.  
  
"Alex?" he whispers, looking up.  
  
It's her.  
  
She's a sight for sore eyes - her features haven't changed a bit, even as time continues its march; the familiarity is enough to make his heart ache. She rushes over to hug him before holding him at arm's length to scrutinize him.  
  
"Gilbert! How are you? Are they treating you okay? You've changed so much - you're so much skinnier, and your hair is longer - are they not giving you enough to eat?" Alex babbles, words tumbling out of her mouth.  
  
He chuckles. "If you were to try and persuade them, I have no doubt I'd feast every night."  
  
"So you haven't been eating enough." She frowns.  
  
Lafayette shrugs. "Such is the fate of a prisoner, I'm afraid."  
  
"Not if I have anything to say about it. Are they going to free you anytime soon?"  
  
"Of course not. I am the antithesis of what Robespierre wants, Alex. I'd be lucky if he doesn't execute me."  
  
She waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, Robespierre. I'm not talking about him. He's crazy, that one, there's no reasoning with him."  
  
He looks around the room in apprehension. "Don't be so loud," he hisses. "If they hear you…"  
  
"If they hear me, I have diplomatic immunity from Washington, and besides, I'm an American, from the country they are trying to emulate. And you are too, at heart, and they should not have forgotten that."  
  
"What's done is done, though."  
  
"Mm. Yeah, except, no."  
  
Lafayette is very confused. "What do you mean?" There is a pause as Alex seems to get lost in her thoughts.  
  
"Five, four, three, two, one," Alex counts down softly, seemingly oblivious to his question. "Let's go."  
  
She drags him by the arm out the door, which is miraculously unlocked. He stumbles after her.  
  
They run through the hallways again, Lafayette following Alex's lead.  
  
The usual guards aren't there.  
  
Somehow, they make it to the courtyard, where a carriage is waiting. He breathes in the fresh air.  
  
Then he catches sight of the warden, waiting next to the horses, and his heart sinks. Alex pays the man no attention as she barrels onward.  
  
Lafayette yells, "Alex, wait!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The warden! What are you doing?"  
  
She grabs him and tugs him along. "Hurry up, hurry up, that's not the real warden, we don't have that much time before someone finds out."  
  
Lafayette starts running in earnest. He clambers into the carriage, the imposter warden climbing in after him. Alex tumbles in last, yelling, "Go!"  
  
The driver cracks the whip, and the horses take off at a gallop.  
  
Alex turns towards the stranger. "You can take off your disguise now."  
  
The man takes off his hat, scrubs his face with a towel, and takes off his coat to reveal another of Lafayette's friends. "Thomas!" he cries.  
  
"Hello, Lafayette. Long time no see."  
  
"Who is the driver, may I ask?"  
  
Alex gives him a wicked grin. "Angelica."  
  
He laughs for the first time in months. "I can't believe you."  
  
"Just between you and me," she says, voice dipping low, "can you feel the sexual tension between the two?"  
  
He stares at her in shock and consideration. "Now that you mention it…"  
  
Thomas graciously pretends not to hear.  
  
"Here, give me your hands," Alex says after a moment. He holds out his shackled wrists. She takes a small, thin piece of metal and sets to work on the lock, exclaiming in victory when it clicks open.  
  
As the carriage rolls towards who-knows-where, they explain their plan to him. It's ingenious, actually, and he's exhilarated to be free again.  
  
Then he remembers his family.  
  
"Alex," he asks seriously, "where are we headed towards?"  
  
"The coast."  
  
"I know I probably shouldn't be asking any favors right now, but could we get my family first?"  
  
Alex considers this. "Where are they?"  
  
He winces. "The family manor, just outside Paris." It's a dangerous proposition, he knows, but if there's even a slight chance he can get his family to safety, he's going to take it.  
  
"Thomas?"  
  
"I don't see why not. We're not going into city proper, so there shouldn't be that many guards. The rest I'll be able to incapacitate."  
  
She mulls his words over. "Angelica!" she shouts.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you okay with changing course and picking up Gilbert's family?"  
  
"From where?"  
  
"Just outside Paris!"  
  
Silence.  
  
"You guys are crazy, but alright! As long as we don't spend more than half an hour, we should still catch the boat!"  
  
Lafayette sighs in relief. "Thank you so much," he tells Alex.  
  
She cracks a grin. "Hey, what are friends for?"  
  


* * *

  
Angelica steps into the dock with relief. She's not very fond of ships, unlike Alex, and would rather be on solid ground. Behind her, Alex, Jefferson, Lafayette, and Lafayette's family file down the gangplank.  
  
They have sent word ahead, and Angelica can see Eliza and Peggy waiting with the family carriage a ways down the harbor.  
  
"Let's go!" she says, impatient. As much fun as the rescue was, she still wants to stay on familiar ground.  
  
Eliza sees them and waves, prompting Peggy to look up. They both break into wide smiles.  
  
"Angelica!"  
  
She hugs her sisters tightly.  
  
Someone coughs behind her, and she steps away, remembering her manners. "Eliza, Peggy, this is Mrs. Adrienne de Lafayette, Lafayette's wife, and these are his children, Miss Henriette, Miss Anastasie, Mr. Georges, and Miss Marie. Adrienne, Henriette, Anastasie, Georges, and Marie, these are my sisters, Mrs. Eliza Schuyler-Monroe and Mrs. Peggy Schuyler-Mulligan."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Adrienne says, smiling warmly. She exchanges air kisses with them both.  
  
They have arranged for the Lafayettes to stay at the same boarding house that Alex has a room at, and when the carriage gets there, they exit with Alex, who knows the matron and can help them secure lodgings. Jefferson avails himself of the Schuylers' carriage until they near his house, at which point he, too, bids them goodbye.  
  
When it's just the three of them, Angelica sighs. "There's so much to tell you. Starting with the fact that I'm engaged to be Mrs. Jefferson."  
  


* * *

  
Thomas gets a letter from Alex two days after their return from France.  
  
_Jefferson,_ it reads.  
_Did you ever intend to tell me about your engagement to Angelica, or was I always going to have to find out from Eliza, who found out from Angelica?  
On another note, congratulations. If you ever break her heart, I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth if need be and teach you a lesson on the dangers of making me your enemy.  
Love,  
Alex_  
  


* * *

  
The cabinet is in the middle of an unusually quiet meeting when Washington shocks them all, especially Alex, with news.  
  
"Gentlemen - and ladies - I have an announcement," he declares. Alex looks up from the document she's reading, wondering what could be so important that Washington would bother disturbing the calm for.  
  
He takes a deep breath. "While this decision has not - and cannot - be made lightly, I have come to the conclusion that I will not be running for office again after this term is up."  
  
For a moment, all she can do is sit there and try to process his words.  
  
Alex isn't stupid; she knows that Washington is more progressive than most politicians of the time, and that she is lucky he doesn't think less of her because she's a woman. His unknown successor is not guaranteed to hold the same beliefs.  
  
In fact, there's a significantly bigger chance that the next president will be a misogynistic man who sees women as inferior to men than anyone else.  
  
"Why?" is what she says instead. She is careful to keep her face neutral.  
  
"It is time for me to rest," he says simply. "Forty-five years of my life have been dedicated to the service of this country. I want to spend some time in peace before I die."  
  
Alex knows this is the one thing she cannot fight Washington on. He deserves this much.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Washington blinks. "What?"  
  
"Okay," she says, still careful to maintain that blank façade. "When do you want your farewell address by?"  
  
There should be no hesitation, yet he deliberates before saying, "Perhaps a month before the end of my term."  
  
"Works for me."  
  
The room is slowly thawing, the frozen forms of the cabinet members remembering how to move again. There are protests and shouts.  
  
Alex ignores it all. She has known Washington long enough to know that he will not budge on this, no matter what. They would do better to save their breath and start making plans for the transition.  
  
For once, Jefferson takes his cue from her. He goes back to his paperwork as well.  
  
As the draft of the speech comes together in her head, she has an idea.  
  
"Jefferson!" she whispers.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We've had our differences, and we've had our arguments, but that doesn't change the fact that we both respect Washington more than those idiots here," she says, motioning to the other people in the room. "So I'm asking you to help me write his farewell speech."  
  
He looks at her. "Really?"  
  
"Jefferson, would I ask you if I wasn't certain?"  
  
"No," he has to admit. "I'll help you."  
  
Alex nods like it was a foregone conclusion - and it was - and turns back to the paper on her desk.  
  
"One more thing," he says.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Call me Thomas. I think it's high time we acknowledge we're not enemies anymore."  
  
She has to fight to keep a smile off her face. "Then you must call me Alex in return."  
  


* * *

  
John Adams is elected as the second President of the United States of America.  
  
Thomas Jefferson is his Vice President.  
  
The first thing Adams does, as soon as he takes power, is to fire Alex.  
  
"You understand, you're just a woman," he tells her privately. "It's obviously beyond you to hold office, no matter what the Constitution might say."  
  
She leaves his office seething.  
  
On her way to her office to get it cleared out, she bumps into Thomas.  
  
"Alex, what happened?" he asks.  
  
She glares at the ceiling. "I'm pissed," she says. "Walk with me?"  
  
He obliges, falling in step with her.  
  
The trip to her office is silent. Inside, she starts putting files in boxes, labeling them according to their importance and function.  
  
"Alex what are you doing? It's like you're- oh." It clicks.  
  
She snorts. "Yup. You get it now, right? I'm fired."  
  
"John Adams is an idiot."  
  
"I know that, Thomas, but that doesn't change the fact that I have no job, I have no husband, and therefore I have no means to live with."  
  
When she puts it like that, it's even worse.  
  
There is an uncomfortable silence before Thomas hesitantly speaks. "I'll pay, if you want."  
  
"Oh? For what?"  
  
"For whatever you need, within reason."  
  
She spins around to face him. "Thomas Jefferson," she says - he hasn't seen her unsettling stare in forever - "please do not tell me this is charity. Or pity."  
  
"No," he declares with conviction. "This is me helping you out as a friend."  
  
A pause.  
  
Finally, she acquiesces. "Okay. Thank you."  
  
She finishes packing and leaves the office bare before the end of the day.  
  


* * *

  
Thomas joins forces with Alex to ensure that John Adams doesn't get a second term, writing a very precisely-worded letter in the newspaper expanding on all of the President's faults.  
  
It's so effective that by the time the election of 1800 rolls around, Adams has declared he will not run again for office. Thomas offers himself as a candidate. His only opponent is Alex's other friend, Aaron Burr.  
  
True to her word, Alex endorses him publicly bringing most, if not all, of the women's votes, and he wins easily against Burr, who becomes his Vice President.  
  
He takes office, and his first act is to reinstate her as Treasury of the Secretary.  
  


* * *

  
Aaron raps on the door of Alex's office twice and waits.  
  
She opens the door, sees him, takes in the expression on his face, and drags him inside before shutting the door.  
  
"What do you want." Her voice holds no inflection as she crosses her arms.  
  
He can't bring himself to care. "Why did you support _Jefferson_? I thought I was your friend! I thought you'd have my back… looks like I was wrong."  
  
If he were paying any attention at all, he would see her eyes flashing in warning. If he had even a modicum of common sense, he would back off.  
  
But his fury at the situation - he could've been the President, he _should've_ been the President - blinds him to the warning signs that Alex is showing off and burns away all his sense and rationality.  
  
"I thought," he spits out, "I could _trust_ you." The gauntlet, thrown down, awaiting a reply.  
  
Her response comes in the form of a slap to the face.  
  
He jerks away in shock, though her hand is already at her side again - and it is only now that he remembers her from the war, the ruthless person she transformed into, the way she could fight.  
  
An avenging angel.  
  
" _Pull yourself together_ ," she hisses, voice shaking with wrath. "You knew _exactly_ what you were in for the moment you announced your candidacy after Thomas. Or do you not _remember,_ the contract I had you draw up, years ago, where I _promised_ to support both Thomas and James, should they run for president? I am _not_ an oath-breaker, and I will _never_ be, and you had the knowledge of who my vote would go to beforehand - and you _dare_ accuse me of breaking your trust?" Her voice climbs up and up in her anger.  
  
Aaron flinches.  
  
"You _dare_ accuse me of betraying my highest beliefs, of my friendships? _You dare?_ You, who were my first friend here, _you,_ who knew me before anyone else, _you,_ whom _I_ trusted? Whom I thought could be trusted in turn to know the value of my friendship and of how highly I hold such things? I cannot _believe_ you right now, Aaron."  
  
He swallows, his rage gone. "Alex-"  
  
"I don't want to hear it," she says, interrupting him.  
  
Her next words are worse than the slap to his face. "Get out of my office, and don't come back until you sort yourself out." Alex points to the door, dismissing him.  
  
And God help him, he's still scared of her enough to do exactly as she says.  
  


* * *

  
Angelica takes on the responsibilities of being the First Lady with determination.  
  
It's satisfying, making a tangible change in their country. As the President's wife, she's expected to host parties, yes, but Thomas has gotten better over the years, and he's not the sexist person he once was, and he takes her advice on many things.  
  
Some would say she's the power behind the throne.  
  
She'd scoff and say that she just rules with her husband.  
  
On her recommendation, he changes the rule about the Vice President, allowing for presidential candidates to choose their own running mates instead of being stuck with the runner-up.  
  
They're stuck with Burr for the rest of the term, but it's not too bad - as noncommittal as Burr is, he's made up with Thomas (Angelica suspects Alex) and become a working member of the government.  
  
She tells him to kick Adams' Secretary of the Treasury out and reinstate Alex; he replies that he already has. "Dexter can stay on as Secretary of War," he tells her. "But he's absolutely useless with economics and money." She privately agrees.  
  
Then she finds out that Charles Lee, of all people, is the Attorney General.  
  
"Thomas," Angelica starts sweetly, "if you don't fire Charles Lee _right now,_ not only am _I_ going to kick your ass back to Virginia, but after she finds out, Alex will find you and slap you silly."  
  
He makes a face. "What the hell was Adams thinking? I've heard the stories about Lee. Nothing good. He's leaving today." Good.  
  
"Get Randolph back, if he's willing," she advises. "If not, have your friend James Madison take over for now. You can find a permanent replacement later."  
  
After that, it's mostly smooth sailing until two years later.  
  
They're preparing for bed after another tedious day of doing very little when Thomas asks her, "Darling, if Napoleon is willing to sell 530 million acres of land in the west for fifteen million dollars, do I accept or not?"  
  
Angelica pauses. "Is this coming from the negotiations Eliza's husband and Livingston are doing down in New Orleans?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'd say yes, but only if you can get Congress to approve the funds. I know Alex isn't convinced that doing so is good for the economy or something of the sort - you'll have to ask her for specifics."  
  
He dismisses her concerns with a wave of his hand. "Alex will support the treaty if James asks her to."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Oh, I never told you? We made an arrangement a while back, Alex, James, Burr, and I, about her debt plan - remember when that was still up in the air? Basically, her debt plan would pass, and New York would be the capital of the US, but only if she supported James and I if we ran for President - that's why I won, by the way - and if she supported a piece of legislation of James' choosing."  
  
"Then yes. I think it'll be beneficial for the United States to get more territory, and besides, space for expansion is always a good thing," Angelica decides with finality.  
  


* * *

  
James accepted the Attorney General appointment on the understanding that it would be a temporary thing. Now, three years later, and he's still here.  
  
It's not that he hates his job, it's just that he needs a break from bureaucracy.  
  
He's in his office, down the hallway from Alex's (she's literally the only bright spot in his day-to-day life, if only because she doesn't treat him any differently than she did before), when Thomas barges in.  
  
"James!" he greets.  
  
"Thomas," James groans. "What is it?"  
  
"So I was talking with certain people yesterday who suggested that I should accept France's offer for the entirety of the Louisiana Territory. The only problem is, Alex is almost certainly going to oppose it."  
  
"And what do you want me to- oh." He falls silent as he realizes exactly what Thomas needs.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He considers it. Truthfully, he thinks that the purchase would be beneficial. "How much are they asking for, and how much land are they giving?"  
  
"Fifteen million for 530 million acres."  
  
James does the math in his head. "That's actually… really cheap. I'll talk to Alex, but on one condition."  
  
His friend looks at him inquisitively. "What?"  
  
"Find another Attorney General."  
  
Thomas is silent for a moment. "Fine. Do you know how much extra work you've given me, though?"  
  
He snorts. "What else do you even do?"  
  
"Fair enough."  
  


* * *

  
The Louisiana Purchase, as it is now known, passes through Congress with ease. America is suddenly twice as large, somewhat poorer, and Alex needs to fix the mess her friends made.  
  
She sighs, rubbing her forehead as she reviews the reports. "Why am I even friends with you, Thomas?"  
  
"I don't know, why am I?" he asks from the doorway.  
  
She looks up. "How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"For a while now. You make the funniest faces when you're frustrated."  
  
Alex groans. Loudly. "Thanks, Thomas, so much."  
  
"You're welcome." He's smirking.  
  
"Did you need something?"  
  
Thomas walks in and takes a seat. "Yes, actually. Do you know anyone I could hire to replace James as Attorney General?"  
  
"He's leaving?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Damn. Uh, Levi Lincoln Senior is a good choice. Breckinridge is a candidate as well, and so is Rodney, even if he is a little pretentious. Did you know his full name is Caesar Augustus Rodney?"  
  
He's a little overwhelmed. "Uh, cool. So who should I choose?"  
  
Alex considers. "Lincoln, if possible."  
  
He nods and thanks her before walking back out.  
  


* * *

  
The election of 1804 sneaks up on them all, especially Aaron. He's definitely not running for President again - Jefferson's up for reelection, and he learned his lesson from Alex the first time around.  
  
At least now they're friends again.  
  
In the end, Jefferson is the Democratic-Republican nominee for President, James Madison, the former Attorney General, his Vice President pick.  
  
His opposition is laughable - Pinckney and King from the Federalist party, which Alex is nominally a part of. Though even she has her doubts.  
  
In reality, Alex and Thomas have somehow made the two-party system less of a polarizing split between two sides of the nation and more of a collaborative effort with different points of view. She described it once as "debate partners on issues of the nation."  
  
Jefferson wins by a huge margin, Alex's support again a large factor of his success.  
  
Aaron sends him his congratulations, as heartfelt as he can make them, and expects to live the rest of his life with his Theodosias and running his law firm.  
  
He does not, in any way, shape, or form, expect a summons to the Executive Mansion - though it's colloquially known as the White House - in Manhattan from the President. Not from Alex, the only person he thought would do something like this.  
  
He accepts, of course; it would be rude not to.  
  
The trip to the White House takes but minutes, and before he knows it, he's knocking on the door. Angelica answers it and ushers him in.  
  
"I don't know what he wants to talk to you about; he's been very secretive," she says. "Still, whatever it is, it's nice to see you again."  
  
The conversation ends there as they approach the President's office. Angelica doesn't bother to knock, instead turning the doorknob and walking in.  
  
"Thomas, Burr's here."  
  
"Send him in, will you?"  
  
Aaron tentatively steps into the room as Angelica slips out again. Jefferson sits behind his desk, scrutinizing him closely.  
  
"Yes?" he asks.  
  
"Burr. Have a seat."  
  
When he sits, Jefferson starts again without preamble. "Are you willing to be Secretary of State?"  
  
"What?" Aaron blurts. "Are you kidding me?"  
  
Jefferson chuckles lightly. "Dead serious, I assure you. You come highly recommended by Alex."  
  
"I'll have to thank her, then."  
  
"Do that. And just between you and me, as a former Secretary of State, I think you'd be very well suited for the position. It's been hard enough these past four years watching Marshall butcher the position."  
  
He smothers a laugh. "Yes, I'd be honored to be Secretary of State."  
  
"Perfect." Jefferson smiles. "Let me introduce you to the rest of my administration." He motions for Aaron to follow him out of the room.  
  
The two of them walk companionably to another office (how many are there?) and enter the room. Inside, several people sit around a table, seemingly ignoring each other in favor of their individual work.  
  
They look up when the two of them enter.  
  
Alex grins. "Thomas and Aaron! Did it go well, then?"  
  
"Mhm. Burr, I'd like to introduce you to my First Lady, Angelica Schuyler-Jefferson, my Vice President, James Madison, Secretary of the Treasury, Alex Hamilton, Secretary of War, Henry Dearborn, Secretary of the Navy, Dolley Payne Todd Madison, and Attorney General Levi Lincoln Senior. Everyone, this is Aaron Burr, my new Secretary of State."  
  
"Thomas, why did you not tell me this?" Angelica asks, hands on her hips.  
  
"I wanted it to be a surprise?" he says sheepishly.  
  
Aaron has to restrain himself from laughing again. "If I may ask, Dolley, are you and James married?"  
  
"Yes, we are, as a matter of fact. And I'm the Secretary of the Navy based on my merit, and if you even imply otherwise, I will punch you in the face."  
  
He nearly groans. The world gives him another Alex. Great.  
  
"I wouldn't dare," he assures her instead. She nods, satisfied with his answer.  
  
"Okay. One thing, though," Alex says, looking at both of them. "You guys need to call each other by your first names now. No more of this male posturing."  
  
"Fine, Alex," Jefferson - no, Thomas - allows grudgingly. "Nice to be working with you, _Aaron_."  
  
"Likewise, _Thomas_."  
  
Alex claps her hands. "See? That wasn't so hard, now was it?"  
  
He grumbles about being forced into friendships.  
  
She fixes him with a look. "Your pride will be the death of you, I swear. Stop complaining."  
  


* * *

  
Alex throws a party at the White House a few months later.  
  
When Thomas asks her why, she tells him, "It's an occasion to see all my friends again! I haven't seen some of them in too long."  
  
She knows he knows there's no persuading her otherwise, and sure enough, he acquiesces with surprising dignity and some righteous suffering. "Just don't trash the place, please," he requests.  
  
"Oh, you're invited," she says. "You can keep an eye on things if you wish."  
  
Judging from his expression, he's shocked. " _I'm_ invited?" he asks, incredulous.  
  
She nods. "You're my friend, aren't you?"  
  
"Alex, people who hate me are going to be there."  
  
"Like who? It's literally the Schuylers - and you're married to one of them, who is, by the way, my best friend - James, Dolley, Aaron - you work with these people on a regular basis - John, Lafayette and Adrienne, Hercules - who are my friends, and will behave, and besides, none of them hate you - James Monroe - he's only there because Eliza's going to be there - and the Washingtons - and don't forget that Washington was the one to hire you in the first place."  
  
Thomas blinks. "Okay. I'm pretty sure I got most of that, but I object to your statement that your old army friends don't hate me."  
  
"What would they hate you for?" Alex frowns, confused.  
  
"I'm ninety percent certain that they blame me for not being there during the war, and also, in case you've forgotten, I was an asshole to you at the beginning. The only one who I'm absolutely sure won't attack me on sight is Lafayette, and that's because I made friends with him back when I was still in France."  
  
She scowls, mind racing. "I'm going to have a very long talk with them, then."  
  
"Don't bother on my account. I'll just, I don't know, avoid them or something."  
  
"Don't you dare," she says. "You shouldn't feel unwelcome just because some of my friends are idiots. Although I will admit that you were definitely an asshole back then."  
  
Thomas laughs. "Wow, thanks."  
  
"No problem. I'll give you the details when I work them out. Bye!"  
  
"Bye," he says to her retreating back.  
  


* * *

  
By all accounts, the party is a raging success. Alex's old friends share anecdotes from their military days - the Charles Lee encounter draws some whistles, some incredulous looks, and some sighs - and Washington jokingly gives his input ("Do you know how scary Alex is?").  
  
Her political friends in the government reminisce about their former rivalry until Washington interrupts with an incredulous, "How did no one get killed?"  
  
They look at each other and burst out laughing.  
  
There's alcohol, but Martha, Washington's wife, makes sure none of them get too drunk, and she periodically gets food from the kitchens.  
  
"You are a lifesaver," Alex says at some point, giggling.  
  
"I know, dear," she replies, smiling.  
  
John, Lafayette, and Hercules marvel at the fanciness of the room. True to her word, Alex talked to them, and no one comments on the surprising lack of insults they throw.  
  
It's just a good night all around.  
  


* * *

  
Of course, the good times can't last.  
  
It's the end of an era, or at least close enough. One by one, the founders of America, the ones who fought for freedom and what they believed in, the ones who were present for the birth of their nation, one by one, they die.  
  
Alex watches everyone she's known die, some of old age, some of injury, some of other causes.  
  
To no one's surprise but everyone's grief, Washington, the man who led the nation before it was more than a handful of colonies, dies first. He lives to be seventy-six and dies peacefully in his sleep in Mount Vernon.  
  
Martha Washington follows in his footsteps soon after.  
  
Alex attends the funeral with all of her friends, and many more, all wishing to pay their respects to the man. Some pay homage to the legend they believed in, but Alex knows better - Washington was just as human as any of them.  
  
John, though young, dies true to his fighting spirit - in combat. Alex gets the letter and crumples.  
  
"You promised you wouldn't die," she whispers.  
  
Peggy dies before either of her sisters. Angelica and Eliza mourn in private, and Alex goes to the Schuyler mansion to give her condolences, though she feels like crying herself. Angelica opens the door, takes one look at her, and bursts into tears. She sits in the parlor, comforting and being comforted by her friends.  
  
She forges onward, becoming the first female President, right after James steps down after two terms. Aaron is her Vice President.  
  
James succumbs to a fever one winter. The lights stay off at the White House for a week on end. Alex takes a deep breath and delivers a moving speech at his funeral.  
  
Hercules' store is robbed one day, and he dies defending it. A freak accident, the reports say. A sudden heart attack, brought on by the stress.  
  
"I don't know how much longer I can do this," she admits one day to Aaron. "I don't know how many more funerals I can attend before it becomes too much."  
  
"We'll do it the same way we used to, back in the war," he tells her. "One day at a time."  
  
So that's what she does. She becomes a steady rock in a sea of grief, there when Aaron's wife Theodosia dies, there when Dolley dies and no one else knows what to do, there when Lafayette stumbles into the White House at three in the morning to tell her that Adrienne left the mortal world in the night, there when - when Angelica dies.  
  
Thomas is visiting, his hair going gray, her face weathered, and they sit in the President's office and chat for a while. "Angelica's not feeling well," he tells her. "She's staying at home for now."  
  
Then a messenger comes in with a letter, and Alex accepts it, opens it, reads it.  
  
She screams. Later, those who heard it will swear that it was inhuman.  
  
The paper flutters to the floor as people come running from all over the building. "Madam President, what is it?" the head of security asks her.  
  
She doesn't respond.  
  
With trembling hands - what news could have affected her like this? - Thomas picks up the letter and scans the page. His face blanches with each passing second.  
  
"Please excuse us," he tells everyone. "The news is most distressing."  
  
"With all due respect, sir-"  
  
Thomas draws himself up as much as his old age will allow. "I was the third President of this nation, one of the few surviving friends of the current one, and my wife, the President's closest friend, has just died. Leave."  
  
His mind has not dulled a bit, it seems.  
  
Alex tried to process the words on the page. _Alex, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but Angelica has died of a stroke,_ it says in Eliza's neat script.  
  
She buries her head in Thomas' shoulder and allows herself to break down.  
  
He pats her back. "I know, I know."  
  
Alex sits back up, wiping her tears away. "I should be comforting you. Your wife just died."  
  
"My dear, you've gone through more grief in the past few years than anyone should have to endure their entire lives. You deserve to have someone look out for you."  
  
Who's left?  
  
It's just her, Aaron, Thomas, Lafayette, and Eliza.  
  
Five remnants from a bygone age.  
  
The rest of her time in office passes by in a blur. No one else that she knows passes away, thankfully, at least not with her as President. After her second term is up, she goes back to the boarding house that has become her home, now, though she could easily buy a house.  
  
She doesn't want a house.  
  
Four months later, Alex receives word that Aaron has died in his sleep.  
  
For once, she is numb. Aaron was her first friend in America, akin to a brother. And now he's dead.  
  
She is accompanied by Thomas to the funeral, Eliza going with Lafayette. His daughter makes a short eulogy.  
  
Alex stands with her head bowed.  
  
It starts raining.  
  
The four of them remaining are revered throughout the country, their names whispered like they're legends. She hates it.  
  
We are human, she wants to scream. We have feelings and thoughts and we make mistakes and we feel loss. We are not relics to be looked at, idols to be worshipped on pedestals.  
  
She says none of this.  
  
In Thomas' eyes, she can see her own weariness reflected back. In Lafayette, she finds someone with the same nightmares about the war. And Eliza… Eliza is the closest she has to a sister.  
  
She doesn't want to lose any of them. She's scared of losing more of them.  
  
Then Lafayette dies, and she loses the one person who knows war the same way she does - as a fight for revolution, for freedom, with fire in her veins and blood on her skin. Now, war is not fought for a cause but rather for tangible things - land, money, people.  
  
It sickens her.  
  
Lafayette is buried next to Adrienne, under American soil, exactly as he had always wanted. It takes all of Alex's willpower not to break down and sob.  
  
Thomas, Eliza, and she meet up almost every day, now, seeking solace in the only ones who remember the sacrifices they had to make to win their independence.  
  
Because that's what America is, isn't it? Built on the labors of the dead, forgotten by time.  
  
Eliza passes away in her sleep. She is buried next to her sisters in Trinity Church, at peace once again.  
  
Or so Alex hopes.  
  
Eliza's absence is nearly tangible, and she clings to Thomas more than ever, and he holds her just as tightly back. They cannot afford to lose each other.  
  
"So it's just us, huh," she says on one of her better days. "We're all that's left of an era."  
  
"Yeah," he responds softly. "When we're both gone, no one else will remember the Revolutionary War anymore."  
  
"Or the Constitutional Convention."  
  
"The cabinet meetings."  
  
"Lafayette's rescue."  
  
"To be fair, only four of us would actually remember that anyway."  
  
They share a laugh.  
  
“Do you ever think about the fact that after we’re gone, no one will remember Washington anymore either?” Alex asks.  
  
“What do you mean? I doubt anyone will ever _forget_ him.”  
  
She shakes her head. “No. I mean as a person. We remember him as a mentor, as human, not a legend like the rest of the country. Think about it. He had no children, I have no children, and although you do have children, I doubt they truly remember him.”  
  
Thomas considers this. “You’re right,” he admits softly. “He’ll be immortalized soon. As a myth, and not a person.”  
  
Alex decides to write her life's story down. Thomas helps her, and in the end, they publish a joint autobiography. An instant bestseller, though neither of them wants for money or fame.  
  
She tells Thomas about one of the old drinking songs. "Raise a glass to freedom," she sings. "Something they can never take away."  
  
"No matter what they tell you," Thomas joins. He says, "They sang it in France, too."  
  
"I think too many people forget about what America stands for," she murmurs. "Freedom, and independence, and the rights of all."  
  
They decide to put that in the book.  
  


* * *

  
Against all odds, the two of them live on for another three years.  
  
She is lying on her deathbed - she can feel it in her bones - when a messenger brings the news to her.  
  
"Former President Thomas Jefferson died early this morning."  
  
She lets out a sigh, thanks the girl, and stares up at the ceiling. At least she can see them all again soon.  
  
Grief is a dull pang in her chest that has not gone away for years on end. But in her last moments, she feels at peace. Calm.  
  
Without any witnesses present, save the matron of the boarding house, she says her last words that afternoon. The same evening, she slips away from the land of the living.  
  
"Now the book of the revolutionary age closes."

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the historical accuracy of this piece:  
> It isn't accurate. At all. I mean I literally took how she started her life, ran with it, and tossed history out the window. If you wanted something more history-like, sorry. Hoped you enjoyed it anyway.  
> This fic was never meant to be historically accurate in the first place. I took a lot of creative license, in both the events taking place and the sequence they take place in, just like the actual musical. I omitted certain characters and added others, again like the musical.  
> It is, and was always supposed to be, a what-if fic. What if Alex was a girl? What if she still met the Revolutionary set? What if women were then given rights? What if?  
> We'll never know, but this is an effort on my part to (kind of) write it out.  
> I hope you all have a wonderful day, and thank you so much if you left kudos or comments on this story.  
> -Leeny


End file.
